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A fissure opens in my chest. My insides start pulling apart. I have to separate what I feel from what is right. A part of me will always love Kenna, but love isn’t enough. Love brings hours upon hours in closets, and then years later, betrayal.
It’s better this way.
WestB: I guess so.
And that’s the moment I lost the best thing that ever happened to me.
CHAPTERTWENTY-EIGHT
Kenna
Chlorine burns my nostrils.Drops of pool water hit my back and roll down.
A pang of loneliness smacks me. I’m in the rear of the visitors’ locker room, facing a wall of lockers, gripping my phone like I could choke it.
Fucking football players.
I should’ve known.
He turned his back on me so quick. So fucking quick. The worst part is, I didn’t even see it coming. Not with him. But I guess I should’ve because they’re all the same.
It’s over.
At least I know now.
His words from yesterday come back to haunt me. The way he’d cupped my cheeks… He stared at me like I was his everything.
I love you.
Well, he definitely doesn’t know what love is.
Two Hours Later…
Sydney clicks her glass with mine. We fought over the soundtrack of my “fuck him” party, but I won since I’m the belle of the ball.
I throw back a shot, setting the empty glass on the coffee table. “I really thought he was different,” I say for the umpteenth time.
It doesn’t matter how many times I say it, Sydney always answers the same way: “Me too. You sure he hasn’t called?”
I check my phone again. “Nothing.”
She frowns. “He had me fooled.”
“You and me both.”
“Aidan’s texted me, but I’m not responding in solidarity.”
I lift the empty shot class and make her click hers with mine again. I’m not usually a drown-my-sorrows-in-alcohol type of girl, but when Sydney suggested a “fuck him” party, I was all for it.
We turned off the TV and made a pact we wouldn’t get on any social media whatsoever and we would talk about nothing but what a dick West Brooks is.
The thing is, I can only think of things to say about what’s happened in the last twenty-four to thirty-six hours. It’s not like I have a whole laundry list of complaints. Other than selling me out to the media, everything was fine.
Not that selling me out is something I should gloss over.
I throw my head back and groan. “Who does that? Did he think I would be okay with it?”
Sydney nibbles her lip.